What darkness hides
by ColineTurner
Summary: Christine decides to return to the Opera but her angel isn't there any more. He's nothing more than a scary story now... But who's going to take care of the Opera?.. EC!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own anyone! (sigh) Though I wish I could... 

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Lifeless.

That's how Christine would describe the Opera House now. Lifeless. A woman passing by turned her head and Christine realized she said the word aloud. And it sounded eerie. The Paris Opera was her home for more than half of her life and since first days it was full of life. She meant not only those glorious evenings when the entrance beamed with golden light, and the highest Paris society gathered here to dazzle the world with the brilliance of their dresses and wittiness of remarks. However little time ballet rats had before the performance Meg and Christine always tried to slip away and leaning over banisters stared at the this luxury and imagined themselves being one of these lazily graceful ladies with melodious laughter surrounded by no less than several handsome admirers - but Madame Giry's strict voice quickly put an end to their dreamings. She never made any difference between her own daughter and an adopted one and constantly repeated to both of them her favourite saying: 'Never trust your eyes. No one knows what the brilliant outside may hide and it's only in your soul that the true beauty lies'. They grunted then though never daring to retort... Blissful childhood! Now one of these little girls was staying at the entrance of the building that once was her home in a long velvet dress skillfully embroidered with golden threads and her heart broken in two. How much she wished to return those days when a beautiful dress could make her happy! When Opera House was alive and the air itself shone with splendour and sang with the beauty that was born on the stage...

But it was not only in the evening when the Opera was alive. No, even in the grey mornings when lights were turned off and the tired auditory left to their homes, when the dazzling prima donna was washing her face from the thick layer of stage make-up and dead-tired ballet girls dreamt no more of dresses but of getting to their beds, even then the Opera was alive. You could place your head against a wall, close your eyes and listen... Perhaps you'd hear a distant humming or rattling... or nothing definite.. but anyway you'd feel like a man who's listening to the sound of waves in a seashell. You'd hear life. You'd feel it. Christine never could put her finger on this strange sensation, nor explain it to anybody but she knew it to be more than just a figment of her imagination.

But not now. As Christine stepped into the cool darkness of the Opera hall she took a glove off her hand and touched the walls. And shuddered for she couldn't find the comfort she was seeking for. Though this was no news to her last days.

Ever since the night of Don Juan Triumphant. Since the night when she left her Angel. Steps were heard in the distance and Christine hurriedly drew her hand back.

'Madame Giry!' she smiled. She was truly glad to see Meg's mother. Antoinette Giry was mother for her as well.

'Christine! What are you doing here alone? I thoght that after your wedding Raoul won't let you anywhere on your own,' the older woman looked at her adopted daughter more attentively now. Yes, Christine Daae was dressed better than ever in her life but her face was pale and her eyes were glistening feverishly.

'Christine, what happened?'

'I..' the singer stopped. She turned away but Antoinette wasn't one of those whose question you may ignore.

'I"m coming back to the Opera.'

'Why don't you stay with Raoul? Aren't you going to be married?'

Christine slowly shook her head.

'Not anymore. We're too different. I... ' she trailed off and hid her face in her hands. 'Oh, madame Giry, how wrong I was, what have I done!'

The woman hugged her adopted daughter.

'Shh, my dear, you have done nothing wrong. You did what you heart told you and wishes of the heart don't always come true. Everything will be fine, don't cry, mon ange... So you've left Raoul, am I right?'

Christine nodded, still sniffing into her shoulder. They stood for a while in complete silence.

'And what are you going to do now?'

What she's going to do now... She has no idea, to be frank, she just wanted to run back to her simple life. She loved Raoul in a way but love turned out to be not enough to overcome the precipice of prejudices and misunderstandings... Why wasn't she supposed to sing when becoming a member of Chagny's family? Why couldn't she go anywhere without asking permission first? Why did all those Comtes and Vicomtes staring at her as if she were some kind of cockroach? But more than that she couldn't drive off the thoughts of him.. her Angel whom she abandonned to the darkness. His voice was following her everywhere, and his eyes... 'those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.'

She rose her head determinedly from Madame Giry's shoulder.

'I'm going to see my Angel.'

Madame Giry quickly averted her eyes and Christine felt her heart sink. My God, let me not be too late!

'Is he still here? Please, I need to know' she begged.

'I"m sorry, my dear,' Antoinette Giry replied quietly.

'No one has seen him since that night. Meg has found his mask...' she let the sentence trail off but it was obvious what she meant.

'Come on, my dear,' Christine was pushed inside the Opera House along the passages she knew so well. The girl moved almost automatically. This can't be, this is not true.. Angels don't die! But he's no angel, a dark voice in her head whispered. He was a man, and you betrayed him.

'Good morning, madame Giry,' a cheerful voice greeted her. It took Christine some time to realize it was monsieur Andre.

'Mademoiselle Daae!' he exclaimed upon seeing Christine. 'Or should I address to you as Madame de Chagny now?'

'No,' she replied dryly. 'I'm not married.'

'You know mademoiselle,' Andre kept babbling, 'you're always welcomed here. After this horrible monster's death there's no one to haunt us all and we could...'

But Christine could listen to this no more. Blood was throbbing in her head and she wished she had a Punjab lasso in her head to stop this old fool from telling such things about him... Madame Giry must have felt her mood as she quickly muttered some excuse and practically dragged Christine to her room. It's only there that she let the girl go and made her sit down.

'Now,' she told, 'calm down. You need this first of all before making any decisions. You can stay here as long as you want until you feel ready to return to the world.'

But Andre's words broke some inner dam in Christine's heart and all the bitterness that was accumulating within her during the last months overwhelmed the girl. She betrayed her Angel, the only one who truly cared about her and helped her through the darkest moments of her life, and now those fools who were frightened to death at the mere sound of his voice spoke so lightly about his death... What a short memory they have. Maybe it's time to remind them of something.

When Christine rose her head, Madame Giry needed all of her composure not to shudder. And when the singer spoke her voice held enough determination to trust the seriousness of her intentions.  
'I can't let them speak about him in such a way. Maybe it's time to resurrect the Phantom.'

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What do you think about it? Am I to continue? Terrible? Readable? (pacing the room nervously)  
Please, say something...


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you guys for reviewing, you have no idea what this means to me! 

**C****arillon**: wait and see)  
**the Mouse in the Opera House**: comme vous voulez:)). You give me impetus to write faster!  
**Araiona Dubois**: here's the next chapter)  
**moonlit-leaf**: I hope this one will keep your atention as well. Nice nick, by the way:)

On with the story!

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'My dear,' Mme Giry started soothingly. 'You need rest. He wouldn't want you to be in such a terrible state.'

'Does it matter now?' Christine replied bitterly.'I did many things he didn't want me to do. And many mistakes. He didn't want me to be with Raoul - but I was going to marry him. He didn't want me to stop singing - but I haven't sung for almost three months now.' She felt her despair turning into impotent rage at herself - for being such a fool, for being so heartless and selfish when her Angel needed her. He was no angel...

'What was his name?'

'Erik.'

'Erik..' she whispered.

Antoinette Giry's heart was breaking as she watched her adopted daughter. A young girl shouldn't have such dark shadows under her eyes and such expression of despair on her face... She shouldn't sit here on the sofa in her little room and press her fingers to her temples, and bite her lips.

'Erik, she thought, what have you done? You're cursed, you bring grief upon those you love... even after death. God played a cruel joke when he created you... You designed amazing building, but you filled it with terror. You wrote heavenly music but it made people tremble when they heard it. You raised the beautiful flower but it's withering because of you now.'

'I'm sorry, darling,' the old woman said quietly. 'But you have to go on. For him. Erik wanted you to be happy and he gave up his own happiness for it.'

Christine shook her head.

'He was my teacher, my father, my only friend, and I betrayed him. And now they're talking about him so... how dare they! Only three months ago they were trembling at his only name!' She almost cried but stopped and gained her composure. 'But I won't let them mock at him!'

She suddenly stood up and grabbed Madame Giry's hands.

'Madame, show me the way to Erik's...' Christine didn't want to say 'lair'. '...show me the way to Erik's home.'  
'Why would you want to return there, dear?' Antoinette didn't like the idea at all. Why open old wounds? Past must remain in the past even when your dear people remain there.

'Please, I need to go down there.'

Madame Giry frowned.

'No, Christine, that's not the place for you now.'

'I beg you, madame...'

'No'

The girl stopped for an instant surprised at the steel in the other's voice, but almost immediately her face turned into a mask of cold determination.

'Okay, then I'll go alone.'

She rushed to the door with the swiftness amazing for someone who has just been sititng on the sofa with no sparkle in her eyes and no sign of blood in her face. She's absolutely hysterical, Mme Giry realized with a start. She'll listen to nobody now and she will go down regardless of the chances of being lost or caught into an old trap.

'Wait! I'll go with you.' Christine stopped. ' But you obey my every word, do you hear me?'

Since their meeting today it was Christine's first smile.

'I will.'

They were walking quickly along the familiar Opera's passages and Christine felt her heart sinking. These passages held so many remembrances, both sweet and bitter! Here's the one leading to the dormitories where she lived for the first several years. The singer remembered how uncomfortable she felt having no privacy at all. She never got used to changing and sharing bathroom with other girls, and uneasiness washer constant companion. The girl usually waited for the others to fall asleep before making herslef comfortable in her own bed and relax. She never complained about this because it sounded like paranoia but how awful it was to wash knowing that there are others waiting for you and you hurry trying not ot take much time... It also often turned out that she was the last one to get dressed and while other girls had already run to the rehearsals she struggled with her points trying to put them on right. If not for Meg Christine's life would have been much worse though. She was a shy child and after her father's death all the world seemed to be hostile to her. Each gibe or scolding made her feel hurt and lonely, and in the evenings when the girls divided into several whispering laughing groups, little Daae hid somewhere in the corner and recollected her father's songs and stories. When Meg was around she considered it her duty to find Christine and pull her to one of the companies, and though the Christine rarely joined the conversation it let her not to be a complete stranger.

Meg was the only one who knew all of Christine's thoughts and dreams. But even she didn't knew about the Angel. Not that Christine didn't trust her best friend to keep the secret...Perhaps it was some kind of superstition or just fear that Meg wouldn't believe her but little Daae kept her secret until the last year. Of course, Meg noticed that her friend wasn't telling her everything but it was not in her character to press. Besides, she always had something in her mind to keep her attention.. Christine smiled recollecting their sorties - which sometimes resulted in a long boring lecture on behaviour.

And here's the passage which leads to the small chapel where she used to hide from everyone: first to cry and then - to talk to her Angel. Suddenly she almost saw the scene of many-many years ago...

_She ran down the stairs of the chapel, her face tense in attempt to hold back tears. 'What's the matter, my child?' her Angel's voice filled the room.  
'They all have someone to care for them. And I'm.. I'm alone!' tears stared to fall from her eyelashes.  
'I care about you and I won't let anyone offend you, Christine'  
'I know but..' she sniffed.  
'What's it?' he prompted. 'You know you can tell me everything'  
'You have another children to care about,' she blurted out fearing her boldness. 'I'm only one of them'  
'Why do you think so?' despite her fears his voice sounded calm as usual.  
But the question took her aback.  
'Because you're an angel and you have many little children to play to'  
'Listen to me, my little Christine. I came to you because your father asked me to take care of you. And I am with you all the time, even when you don't hear me. Believe me, you're my only charge and the only one who listens to my music'  
She raised her eyes to the fresco and gave a shy smile.  
'Really'  
'Have I ever deceived you'  
'No'  
'Then trust me, my child. You're not alone in this world, always remember this'  
'I will,' she replied obediently. And felt the tension leave her._

She plunged out of her thoughts as they came up to Christine's old dressing-room. The door seemed to be nailed up but Mme Giry didn't pay any atention. She turned they key in the hole and the door easily unlcked. Seeing Christine's surprise she explained:

'Monsieurs Andre and Firmin don't want to try their luck again. They avoid the places which have any connections with the Phantom and pretend that this room has been destroyed not to arouse unnecessary suspicions.'

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What do you think about it? Here's a little blue button below, push and tell me! Pleeeeeeease...


	3. Chapter 3

Thank all of you guys for wonderful reviews, you're the ones who keep me writing (so if I start to bore you you know what to do..:))) - kidding! You better say me at once!) 

**Jamea**: sorry to disappoint you but 'it's in her soul that the true intrigue lies':) I hope you'll like it all the same)  
**vixen519**: I had your words in mind while writing this chapter.. Was that soon)  
**the Mouse in the Opera House**: we wouldn't want to return Erik to soon and spoil the fun for Christine, Girys and Co, or would we? As for the length of the chapters.. well for some reason my inspiration insists on 8 Kb of text.. Maybe with time and reviews it'll change its mind?;) (sounds horrible from the biological point of view but sorry I can't do anything about it:)) **Ginerva-Ginny-Weasley76**: so be it)  
**moonlit-leaf**: that was my goal from the very beginning:))

Sorry for making Christine such a psycho, it must be Robin Hobb influencing me! But her books are impossible to stop reading!

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Mme Giry carefully entered the little chamber as if fearing that something - or someone - can suddenly jump on them from the dark corners. But everything was still. Thick layer of dust covered each open surface, accumulated in the folds of fabric and absorbed sounds. Christine noticed the pieces of the vase she had accidentally swept off the table on that fateful night - they lay exactly as she remembered. It was obvious that the 'curse' of the room had frightened away all uninvited visitors.

Which was definitely a very good thing as the infamous mirror was slightly moved aside revealing a passage behind. Christine tentatively made a step towards it half-expecting to hear the booming warning not to come any closer because 'the disasters beyond her imagination will occur'. And felt strangely disappointed as the room remained silent. One more step closer. And one more...

She almost gave a jump when she suddenly heard a creaking sound behind her back and hit against her dressing table dropping tens of cans and tubes standing on it. Thank God, the sound came from madame Giry locking the door. The old woman however looked alarmed. She pressed her forefinger to her lips and grabbed Christine's arm as if fearing that the girl may run away.

The singer hadn't understood the reason of her panic until she heard voices from behind the door.

'I tell you I heard noise coming from this room!' they heard a girl's thin voice.

'Don't be stupid, Amelie, it's locked. No one lives there.' the girl who replied sounded older.

'How do you know this? They say it's the Phantom's room.' Amelie objected.

'You don't believe in the Phantom of the Opera, do you? Come on, you're a big girl and you know that ghosts don't exist!'  
'But someone wrote that opera and arranged that fire, and who sent notes to the managers? I heard ballerinas talk about it!' the voices were closer now, Christine couldn't get rid of the impression that the girls stand right behind her back.Well, in a way they were, if not for the door.

'Listen to them more and they'll tell you that Santa visited them personally on the Christmas Eve! That phantom was just a madman and he died on the night of that fire. He was a monster but there's nothing supernatural in it. Just a common down-to-earth maniac.'

'But I heard something in that room!'

'Amelie, next time you want to make me believe in magic you better hide in a wardrobe and then tell me you saw a faun there.'

Christine heard the steps as the girls were moving away from the door but it was only after the sound of steps completely died away that she ventured to breathe in deeply. She had a feeling that she hasn't breathed for hours. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Madman... monster... a common maniac... Oh God, is that what Erik heard all his life? Is that why he was so possessive of her - because she was the only creature in the world who didn't see him as a cruel joke of nature? Though this wasn't absolutely true... Christine felt a pang of guilt as she remembered their last meeting. 'It's in your soul that the true distortion lies...' She threw her poisonous words into his face not caring about what he felt. She acted no better than he did. And for hundredth time during these long months Christine felt horror and guilt. _What have I done, oh my God, what have I done... _

'Why do they talk about him like this, Madame?' she asked helplessly. 'They don't know anything, anything at all and they tell such things...'

The old woman stroke her head gently.

'Such is our world, my dear. We fear things we don't know, we fear what we can't understand. These children just repeat what they heard from others.'

'I can't let them!' Christine cried out and choked when Madame Giry shook her up.

'Use your brain, my girl. You don't want unnecessary excitement around his place, do you?'

'I don't,' the girl whispered. She was shaking violently.

Antoinette Giry gave her a sidelong glance.

'We shouldn't go down there while you're in such a terrible state.'

But Christine shook her head stubbornly. 'I need to get to his home. I have to repay the debt.'

The other sighed clearly showing her disapproval but it was obvious that nothing could stop her adopted daughter now. 'I had to give her a huge dose of valerian while I had the opportunity,' Antoinette thought gloomily. 'And now my only chance is waiting until she gets tired. She seems to borrow Erik's blunt stubborness and bloody mood swings.'

Madame Giry carefully approached the mirror and slid it aside. The passage smelled with stagnancy and dampness. The woman lit the candles on one of the candelabra from the Christine's table and turned to the girl.

'Go then if you still want to. But take your old shawl first, it must be in your wardrobe. It's cold down there.'

Christine nodded and took the shawl, then came up to the passage and made a determined step inside. Madame Giry followed.

Hours seem to have passed until they finally reached the underground lake. They had walked through what seemed be hundreds of passages, turning left and right, descending stairs and climbing slippery slopes. At first Christine wondered how Madame Giry could find a road on this labyrinth but soon she started to notice many little details that helped them. For example one of the particularly difficult part of the way they were clearly guided by the row of torches on the walls. While all other passages were badly lit, the ones they had chosen would have been bright enough had the torches been burning. Then stopping at the crossroads Madame Giry was carefully examining the walls around them until she found a little pointer on the ceiling. Christine was puzzled at first why the pointer showed to the direction where they came from but then realized it helped to find a way out.

Guessing Erik's riddles was a hard task though and by the time the two women reached the lake they were absolutely exhausted, both mentally and physically. The darkness was behind and before them, and to the left and right was stone. The candelabra in Madame Giry's hand was the only source of light and the farther they went the weaker it seemed. Though Chritsine understood that it's all is nothing but the figment of her imagination there were moments when the girl was afraid that the candles would blow out and they would be left to roam in the darkness for the rest of their lives. Madame Giry seemed to be struggling with the same fears because she slowed her pace and brought the candelabra so carefully as if it was a crystal vase.

As they came down to the lake Christine started looking for a boat but Madame Giry stopped her and turned a hidden lever in the wall and a stone bridge was thrown across the glassy surface of the water. It was so skillfully hidden under the cave's vault that one would never think this monolyth could be broken.

Christine expected the wave of emotions and remembrances to overwhelm her as she stepped onto the ground that had been the witness of so many special moments... But surprisingly she felt nothing. Well, almost nothing. A feeling of nagging emptiness somewhere inside was inevitably growing stronger. She walked up to the organ and touched its surface. Her fingertips became grey with dust. She went to his table and felt splinters of glass crunch under her feet. Once beautiful velvet curtains were torn off the wall.

Christine's head started aching more and more as if an iron hoop was pressing her forehead and temples. Her ears filled with tingling sound and her throat went dry. And she fainted feeling something close to relief.

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Don't beat me, I told you it's all Robin Hobb! (hiding under the table) but maybe you'll help me to cheer up? You know how...


	4. Chapter 4

What would I do without you! You're keeping me alive and writing:) 

**vixen519**: well, usually in fiction there are only two explanations for fainting: pregnancy and starvation. I think it's a bit early for the first one:) so I chose the second.:) Migraine and blood pressure would be too boring, don't you think so:) Hope your mood got better since the last chapter.  
**lilblondegiry**: I tried to put more action into this chapter, I hope you'll like it.  
**the Mouse in the Opera House**: you're right, she must.. and she starts acting..:) I tried to make this chapter a little longer and I managed 10 Kb of text:))) So I hope it will keep your attention and stop ants in your pants:))) for a while

**Jamea**: lairs certainly are exciting... mostly because of what's going on there)  
**moonlit-leaf**: I'm glad you liked 'all the good stuff':). But maybe it's time to shake her up a bit:)

Thank all of you guys, this chapter is for you and you only:).

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Her head was aching. That was Christine's first clear thought. She lay for a while listening to the sounds around and trying to remember her whereabouts. But glass clinking and water splashing didn't combine into one picture so the girl cautiously opened her eyes.

Red velvet. Light tracery from the water dancing on the ceiling. Black open-work curtain.

'Okay, now I'm back to reality,' she muttered sitting up on the swan bed and rubbing her forehead. Surprisingly enough Christine was in rather good spirits despite the dull pain somewhere in the right temple. She pulled the curtain aside and leaning from the bed gave a curious look around.

The shattered glass was swept from the floor and the heavy velvet curtains hung where they were supposed to hang. The candelabras that had been scattered all over the floor now stood on the table and ledges in rocks and the candles filled the cave with warm yellow light. Near the hank of rope on the table there stood a tray with bread, ham and several sandwiches. The picture was oddly incongruous. The lair almost looked like somebody's home.

Madame Giry stopped wiping the organ and looked up at the astonished girl.

'I see you're awake, sleeping beauty. Hasn't anybody told you that a human needs eating and sleeping sometimes?'

'How long was I asleep?'

'Long enough to have a little rest,' the older woman answered calmly. 'I figured that you won't wish to leave this place for some time so I was up and back and brought you some food. Plus this mess definitely needed clearing.'

Christine could hardly believe her ears.

'But why have you decided that I would want to stay?'

Madame Giry gave her a strange glance.

'I know you, for a start. And then again... Let's say you're not the only one here who thinks that the Opera sadly lacks discipline.'

Christine looked absolutely stunned. Madame Giry helping her in her reckless scheme? That was definitely something worth seeing. Or maybe it was the lair's atmosphere playing jokes with somebody's mind? Not quite sure whose one she meant the girl carefully asked:

'What do you mean?'

The older woman laughed:

'You don't think I'm blind, my dear, do you? You obviously decided to scare some wits back into the Opera and though I don't think you should be the one doing it there is no sense in talking you out of this crazy attempt. So I figured you could use some help.'

'I could,' Christine acknowledged. She decided not to try her luck any more. The fate evidently had a strange sense of humour but as long as it played into her hands it would be stupid not to use it. So the singer quickly got out of the swan bed and stopped indecisively. Where now?

As if overhearing her unspoken question Madame Giry pointed to a recess in the wall hidden behind the folds of fabric. 'There. But take a sandwich first.'

Christine gave her a suspicious glance. She always thought that despite all her wisdom and strong will Madame Giry was no more than a tool in Erik's hands but now the image started to change.

'I won't be surprised,' she thought ironically, 'if he had to ask for a written permission before going for another escapade.'

Of course, she over-exaggerated but each joke has a bit of truth within. The girl briefly wondered if the omnipotent and omniscient Phantom of the Opera would have been such if not for his additional pair of eyes and ears. Or maybe even hands? Anyway, her adopted mother was obviously a worthy workmate for the ruler of the Opera.

Christine shook her head. A little more and she will persuade herself that Erik did nothing but taught her to sing and Madame Giry walked around the Opera House masked and cloaked and scared ballet girls. So she decided put this out of her head for now and taking one of the sandwiches approached the niche the other showed her. And pulled the curtain aside.

'If I knew how to whistle I'd certainly give one,' Christine thought absently as she raptly surveyed the large cut-in wardrobe. 'Though on the other hand what did I expect to see? If you want to inspire awe, not disgust, you have to be dressed properly. Okay, let's see what I can make of it...'

ECECEC

Swoosh!  
Christine made a swift movement with her arm and a long pitch-black cape swished though the air forming a semicircle around her. One more wave, this time accompanied by quick turning around. A glance to the large mirror. Not bad, not bad at all. Okay now let's wrap my precious self up to my eyes... Fabulous.

'Fantastic,' she heard Madame Giry's sarcastic voice from behind her back. 'You're a born Phantomess.'

'I had a good teacher,' she replied and suddenly felt a lump in her throat. It's not the time now, she reminded herself. I have a lot of things to do. And she smiled bravely to Madame Giry's reflection in the mirror.

'Am I scary enough?'

'You will need the mask to hide both sides of your face,' her unexpected helper replied. 'Otherwise there's no way you will be taken for the Phantom if someone sees you closer than you expect.'

'I'm not going to let anyone see me that close!' Christine responded indignantly. 'I've promised not to go anywhere but those rafters above Box Five.'

'Things do not always turn out as we expect them to,' Antoinette Giry replied strictly. 'We have enough risk going there with your hair in a bundle.'

'Okay, okay,' Christine gave up not wanting to irritate her only guide in the underworld. She saw the sense in her words and wasn't inclined to quarrel but also she couldn't push away a certain... well, let's say a certain cautious attitude towards this new Madame Giry who felt unnervingly confident on the slippery ground they stepped onto.

The girl took a white skull mask from the stone ledge and carefully put it on. Touched the tight hair knot at the back of her head. Checked the ties of the cape. Draw herself up, breathed in deeply and after the last critical glance to the mirror she turned to Madame Giry.

'I am ready.'

The woman was watching the girl with her eyebrows raised.

'Wrong. No Phantom ever goes out with bare hands,' she pointed to the pair of black gloves. 'Have it in mind for the future, my girl.'

Following her to the passage behind one of the mirrors Christine couldn't help thinking that madness is not so terrible as it is said to be.

ECECEC

'How much is it left until we get there?' Christine whispered. Though she was getting used to the long ways through the darkness the silence started to get on her nerves.

'We're almost there.'

Madame Giry suddenly stopped and turned to the girl. 'We will reach Box Five now. Listen to me attentively. We are not going to do anything rash. I'll show you the niches and passages hidden there, just in case. And then we try to let somebody see you for several seconds. That's all. No howling, no screaming, no threats. Agreed?'

Christine nodded feeling her heart pounding violently in her chest.

'Like before a premiere,' she thought ironically.

Madame Giry turned to the wall and passed her hand over the stone surface.

'Here,' she told pointing to a little lever. She pulled it upwards and the part of the wall slid aside noiselessly.

Christine found herself staring through the remaining scaffolding down to the pit and stage. She wasn't prepared for finding herself at such height and her head start spinning. Madame Giry touched her arm and the girl waved her hand showing that everything's okay. She focused on the can of paint someone has forgotten up here and gave her senses some time to adjust.

When all of a sudden she heard voices from below.

'Yes, we're planning to reopen the Opera Populaire in several weeks,' Andre's smug tenor was easily recognizable. 'And it will be a completely new page in its history. When I and Monsieur Firmin took the lead we had to deal with deplorable consequences of the previous management and this is what caused several grievous accidents. However, now after the restoration the Opera will show its true brilliance.'

Christine cautiously glanced downwards. A young lean man with long dark hair was standing near Andre holding a notebook.

'A journalist, perhaps,' she thought.'Okay, let's listen to them.'

'And what about the infamous Phantom of the Opera?' the young man asked. 'Is he still haunting its realm?'

'Some ghostly realm, maybe,' Andre replied cheerfully. 'Thank God, we got rid of this maniac long ago and unless he arose from the dead we have no one to fear.'

He shouldn't have said this. Before Madame Giry had time to stop her Christine grabbed the can with paint she was staring at and splashed it out onto Andre and the journalist. She only had time to throw the can after the paint before Antoinette pulled her back to the passage and closed the door.

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Your impressions? Am I writing a complete nonsense or there's still a grain of something in it? You know how to tell me your mind...


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you, my dear reviewers, it is you who make me overcome my laziness and inconfidence and continue writing 

**the Mouse in the Opera House**: subtlety is hard to find where you have an unprofessional phanwriter and the character who has a temper.:))) You see, of all Christines I liked Sarah Brightman's the most and she definitely is one of a kind. If Leroux's Christine and the one from the movie might have chosen Raoul, Sarah Brightman's Christine had to do this only because of the mean libretto-writer! And being a girl with a temper she just didn't have patience to think of something subtle:). She will learn it later, I hope. Thank you for all of your reviews, it's a reward for me for all this writing.  
**moonservant**: it really is! And here is Erik (drumroll, please:))). Though there's moe talking than action in this chapter, I hope you'll like it.  
**Jamea**: I'm not so mean! Well, not now, at least:)).

**moonlit-leaf**: a half of a chapter, not longer:). Your wish is my command:))

Thank you guys once again, you're the best.

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'What were you thinking, Christine?' Madame Giry fumed as they were walking quickly down the dark passage. 'I thought we had a deal. Anyway, I want you to know that I'm not going to help a hysterical little girl who can't control her actions. And I'm not going to let you go on with this aventure on your own.'

To her shame, Christine didn't feel even a tiny bit of remorse. To tell the truth, everything happened so quickly that she didn't have time to think before acting... But the girl was perfectly sure that had she been given the second chance she would do the same. Andre irritated her beyond all bearing and, after all, he deserved being cooled down a bit. And as for the journalist... Well, he had something to tell his friends about now. Of course, Christine knew better than presenting these arguments to Mme Giry, but at least she could lead a silent debate.

'I start thinking like a real Opera Ghost,' she grinned. 'Little stir is just what these fops need. Oops, sorry, being fop is Raoul's prerogative! Okay, let them be dolts.'

'Ugh, Christine Daae, where are your manners?' she scolded herself. 'What would Mme Giry think if she heard it?' But it was already hard to stop.

'Poor Raoul,' the girl mused. 'He has been nothing but good to me and whose fault it is that I'm not born for that life? And whose fault it is that he's a fop? And he really is, no offence, please. It's just the way he had been brought up..'

'Christine Daae!'

'Yes, madame!' she promptly replied and thanked heavens that mask didn't let Madame Giry see her face. Though there were no candles in the passage it was growing lighter and that meant they were approaching the inhabited part of the Opera.

Madame Giry looked at her and sighed apprehensively.

'Something tells me that I should repeat everything once more. We're going to my room now so would you be so kind and take off your charming skull mask, gloves and cloak. And assume your best innocent face, just like on that day when Meg and you borrowed Carlotta's sweets.'

Christine could hardly fight back laughter when she remembered the tantrum Carlotta had thrown persuading herself and everyone around that it was the Opera Ghost. She suspected that Madame Giry noticed the empty box they had forgotten to hide properly but now it was obvious that the woman had chosen to shut her eyes on their prank. Christine took off the cloak, mask and gloves, let her hair loose down her back, then tried her best and gave her adopted mother a polite puzzled smile.

'Yeah, this one.' Antoinette turned away and started descending the hidden stairs. 'You've done enough for today and we're going back to my room now.'

'And tomorrow..' Christine began in a hesitant voice.

'Tomorrow we'll see,' Madame Giry snapped.

They walked in silence for a while, then the woman said:

'Now, please, behave, we're going out. But tell me first..' her face was impenetrable. 'Why did you need to throw that paint onto Monsieur Andre?'

Christine shrugged.

'Wouldn't you?' she asked simply.

Madame Giry chose not to answer but as she turned around to go Christine grinned widely. She could swear she saw a glimpse of smile on her tutor's lips.

After they turned round the corner they hardly escaped being knocked down by agitated Meg.

'Christine! You can't imagine how glad I'm to see you! But you should have come five minutes earlier - Andre got a can of paint onto his head. You should have seen it!'

The next second the young ballerina was staring in astonishment at her mother and her best friend who laughed uncontrollably, absolutely unable to stop.

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The next morning Erik stormed into Nadir's little apartment with a newspaper in his hand.

'What does this mean?' he hissed angrily. Well, his anger could be easily explained if you had a glance to the front page of the newspaper he was holding. A large headline ran "The Phantom of the Opera returns".

'I see appointments don't stay vacant for long in the Opera.'

The Persian didn't bat an eye. He was standing near a large fireplace, his hands folded and seemed to be fully absorbed in staring at the fire.

'Do you hear me?' Erik was fuming.

'No, I don't,' Nadir replied calmly not even turning his head. 'You wanted me to believe that you're dead - well, you got what you wanted.'

'I didn't tell you I was dead!'

'I would be surprised if you did. No, you simply disappeared after the night of the fire when the mob destroyed your lair!' Nadir turned around to face Erik who was slightly taken aback by his friend's reaction.

'And after three months of silence you suddenly show up to ask how things are in your precious Opera.' The Persian's black eyes darted flashes as he spoke.

'Go and see yourself if you don't give a damn for people around you!'

He turned back to the fire. The former Opera Ghost stood in confusion unsure of what to say or do. The thought that his fate could be of any importance to anyone in the world had never crossed his mind, and to be frank, when he fled Opera Erik dreamt only about leaving this part of his life behind. He traveled to England and Italy, Spain and Germany in vain hope to push out of his head all thoughts of Paris and Christine but to his shame his mind rarely drifted to Nadir or Mme Giry. Erik was perfectly sure that their lives would be better without his sudden visits and dubious instructions and it had never occurred to him that they might have cared even a tiniest bit about him. But what he saw now didn't fit in the picture.

'Why would you care, anyway?' he asked defiantly.

'Now I'm not exactly sure,' the Persian replied spitefully. 'But then I considered you to be my friend.'

Erik felt his rage turning into guilt mixed with a good deal of astonishment. Has he been so preoccupied with other people's terror and loathing that hadn't paid attention to those who offered him a helping hand?

'I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'Listen, I haven't thought that...'

'You haven't thought. That's enough.' Nadir stopped him angrily.

Then after a short pause he added more calmly:

'Erik, you told that you suffer from loneliness but haven't you ever realized that there are people that are concerned about you? That Antoinette Giry risked her and her daughter's well-being helping you? That she had to stand pressure and whispered gossips? I assure you she's not the kind of a person to go through this only because you terrify her. The woman's clever and brave enough to find a way out. But she chose to help you. Because she's your friend. Just as I am.' Nadir sighed.

'After the night of Don Juan performance we tried to find you. But down there everything was shattered to pieces, and the exultant mob was shouting that they got rid of the maniac once and for all. Naturally, we prepared for the worst. And you never showed up again... What were we supposed to think?'

The Persian turned away from the fire rubbing his forehead.

'Antoinette thought it was her fault. She thought she had to go down there and warn you.'

Erik gave him a surprised glance.

'But it was impossible! The mob would have killed her and I..' he paused and looked aside.

' I wasn't myself,' he finally finished.

'That's exactly what I told her.' Nadir sighed again. 'I don't know if my words had any effect on her, we never talked again. But she's a strong woman and I knew she would sort things out for herself.'

They stood in silence for a while, Erik's head spinning from the amount of amazing information he had just heard.

'I'm sorry,' Erik finally said. 'I thought I was nothing but a burden for both of you.'

'And that was terribly wrong. But perhaps it was my fault too,' Nadir admitted. 'After all, who else could teach you about what friends are for?' he smiled.  
'That's what I'll tell Antoinette when I see her,' Erik smiled back feeling enormous relief and something close to happiness. Two friends, who would have thought! Two friends of his... He felt silly smile tugging at his lips.

'I don't think you'll get off with her just as easily,' Nadir laughed. For the first time he looked openly into Erik's eyes.

'You have no idea happy I am to see you, my old friend,' he emphasized the last words.

And when they embraced Erik was still struggling to find words to tell what it meant for him. But gave it up eventually.

'So am I.' What else could he say anyway?

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	6. Chapter 6

I know, I have no excuse...:((((

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Half an hour later Erik and Nadir were sitting in the a cozy living-room decorated in the finest oriental style drinking hot Russian tea and leading a peaceful conversation. Or to be precise - there were moments when the conversation was peaceful. Former Phantom's fiery temper grew noticeably worse since the last time Nadir saw him - if that was possible. Or maybe the Persian had just forgotten his old friend's moodiness. 

- ...I had to go, daroga, do you understand me? I had no nerves to show myself to neither you nor Antoinette in such a deplorable state into which my own foolishness had brought me! I could have harmed you, or got caught or.. I don't know! I knew I shouldn't have come!

- You could have sent a note, - daroga's voice lacked of any emotion, maybe just a suggestive tinge.

- And write exactly what? How do you do, best regards, see you soon? Besides after the fire I wasn't really in the mood for writing, can you imagine that?

Nadir heard an edge in his voice that wasn't recommended to be ignored and chose to swallow the sarcastic comment.  
- Then why did you come back now? he asked instead.  
- It isn't any of your business! - Erik shouted angrily. - I can do what I want, I can go wherever I want and no one, do you hear me - no one will stop me! If you don't want to see me, all you need to do is say so!

His empty cup made a loud bang being put down with a strength worth better usage. Erik was obviously searching for a vent for emotions but Nadir knew better than to be dragged into scandal. Instead he watched his old friend and rival with an impenetrable expression waiting for the storm to pass.This seemed to make the former Phantom even more furious. He stood up and began pacing the room to and fro right before Nadir's eyes, glaring at the other defiantly. However the Persian was used to such scenes.

Erik's fury died down with the same suddenness as it appeared and he stopped at the window-sill, stooping.  
- There's some fop calling himself an architect, - he dropped disgustedly. - He went into ectasies over my drafts and pleaded me to come.

Nadir's raised eyebrows needed no translation and Erik rolled his eyes.  
- Yes, I sent my work to the concours! Paris evidently needs at least one beautiful thing for tourists to gaze at. Of course, I won and now I have that fool of a president sending me letter after letter.  
- And that's why you came?  
There was a short pause.  
- No. No, that's not the reason. - Erik turned away and stared hard at the burning fire. For several long moments it seemed to be the only living creature in the room. Clock was beating out minutes with the finality of doom coming.  
- Why won't you ask that again?  
- Ask what. - It sounded more like a confirmative.  
- This city is my obsession, - the former Phantom muttered dropping the subject abruptly and rubbing his temples. - Wherever I go I see or hear or feel something that reminds me of it... the smell of candles, rustling of dresses...roses... singing... rings... - his voice faded almost to a whisper. - I had to go back! I had to see the damn place with my own place, I had to make sure it's just a dark cold caves, it's nothing but a prison, a cage.  
- With a beautiful bird singing in it, - finished Nadir quietly.  
- Not anymore. - Are you so sure? - began Persian but the other stopped him with a wave of his hand.  
- I don't want to hear anything about her! Do you hear me? Absolutely anything! I cannot risk my sanity again and I won't do this. - He made another round along the room and sat down on the window-sill. - These travels taught me more than I expected. I can live. I can breathe. I can write a satisfactory song or two and sell them to one of those so-called composers who have no grain of talent. I have the feeling of learning how to live, you know... when I'm looking at a small green leave or see the waves rolling onto the shore, I have a sensation that I see life. - He smiled mirthlessly. - Perhaps when a man loses everything he ever had he tends to turn to things that no one is going to take away from him.

He fell silent and quiet ruled the room once more. Nadir eyed his companion with a thoughtful expression careful to hide his amazement. That certainly didn't sound like Erik. Erik he knew would rather search for someone or something to vent his anger in the most distorted way. Erik he knew would return filled with the thoughts of vengeance and torture. Erik he knew would once more establish his rule over the Opera or wipe it off the face of the Earth. And Erik he knew would go to see Antoinette Giry.  
- Are you going to Girys?  
Erik's head shot up.

- Yes. I owe her that much.


End file.
